Walk On

The Champions Who Walked Among Us

WEP’S FIRST CHALLENGE OF THE YEAR, GONE WITH THE WIND, FEBRUARY 15-17, 2023, SOON CHILD, SOON By Pat Garcia @pat_garcia @WEP @TheIWSG #writingcontest #flashfiction

Warning: Dialect is used in the dialogue. The words are written as the African Americans spoke them in that period of time. They are not misspelled words.

Tagline: When Miss Scarlet slap me, it hurt. Sometimes me gets pains in my head. We human beings too.

“Mammy, ya ever think Miss Scarlet treat us like she treat Miss Melanie?” Prissy asked.

“Lawd, Child, whatever ya done gone and made ya say that? Mammy asked, startled by Prissy’s question. “You done had a sunstroke out there hanging out them clothes, I giv ya.”

“Just thinking,” Prissy answered. “When Miss Scarlet slap me, it hurt. Sometimes me gets pains in my head. We human beings too.”

“A change gonna come one day,” Mammy replied.

“When, Mammy?”

“Soon, child.”

“But how soon?”

“Only the good Lawd know that, Prissy. Now, iron Miss Scarlet dress fo she done come in here and slaps ya face again fo being lazy.”


On the set, Butterfly McQueen took on the role of Prissy and closed her mind before she spoke her lines. It blocked out the shame and degradation that rose within her, but her anger still burned.

As a nigger on the set, integrity and pride were traits she dared not reveal. That would put her in jeopardy of losing her life or getting raped until she passed out, or destroying her existence and demoting her to a cleaning woman like her Mama had been.

After saying her lines, the director shouted at her, “Your voice is beautiful and sounds just like a sweet bird.”

Butterfly nodded her head and quietly left the set.


Have a lovely February and take care.

Shalom shalom,

Pat Garcia

THE WEP WINNER FOR THE DECEMBER 2022 WEP CHALLENGE, THE FIRST TIME EVER I SAW YOUR FACE, WAITING By Pat Garcia @pat_garcia @DeniseCCovey @yolandarenee @LGKeltner @OlgaGodim @jemifraser #amwriting #writingcontest #flashfiction #wepwinner http://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2022/12/wep-winners-december-2022-first-time.html

Badge created by Olga Godim

Hello, Everyone,

Many thanks to the WEP Team and all the awesome writers who participate in the Challenge. The WEP has some of the best writers I know, and I am privileged to be among them.

Have a safe crossover into 2023.

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

My story is embedded below. Click on the title link and it should take you to the full story. Thank you.


Badge by Olga Godim

Tagline: He turned to talk to the man on his left side and the full extent of the scar, the zigzagged flesh that marred the terrain of his otherwise sculptured face, had me wondering who could have been so angry as to mark him so brutally.

The first time ever I saw his face, I stared. The scar, extending from the tip of his ear to his neck, shook the layers of indifference within me about humanity, and compassion swelled up. He turned to talk to the man on his left side and the full extent of the scar, the zigzagged flesh that marred the terrain of his otherwise sculptured face, had me wondering who could have been so angry as to mark him so brutally. He pivoted eighty degrees like a soldier; that’s when he saw me staring. He returned my stare, daring me to look away.

I shook my head, not in pity but with delight, and continued to stare, fascinated by his proud aura. It held me on the spot and kept me from leaving as he walked to me.

Successive dates led to an early marriage. Four weeks later, my newly acquired husband was gone. Our relationship hung on one request. “Write me daily by email, no matter what you’re going through and tell me about your day,” he’d said.

So, I poured out my fears, my pain at not being able to be with him, talk to him, to have a typical marriage, and my frustrations at him dominating my thoughts.

Since then, eight months, twenty-two days, twelve hours, and twenty- nine seconds have passed, and this time I, Ida Mae Jones, now Greco, find myself in the same café waiting on Salvatore, the man who drops into the ugliest corners of the world to protect others. Salvatore had explained to me before we married that I wouldn’t hear from him often when he was gone. Four letters testify to that. Yet I’ve written him an email every day as if I were writing an entry into my journal.

This morning the fifth letter came. Two short sentences: Landing at 9 a.m. Be at the café at 3 p.m.

I wrote in my journal: going to meet Salvatore Greco, my husband of almost a year. This time I didn’t email the entry to him; I put it in my purse.

Arriving at the café, I stood at the reception desk waiting to be seated. I felt Salvatore’s presence and turned. That’s when I saw the face I will never forget. He was coming toward me. I stared at him, searching his face for new scars, and found only one on his forehead, small though it was. He held my gaze as he walked to me; his eyes filled with light and hope. And my waiting was over.


I wish all of you a Merry Christmas and a healthy crossover into 2023.

Take care and be blessed.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia


WC: 169

Kate often wondered what lay behind the big red barn. She took a look at the face of her watch. Three in the morning. She had a flat tire and didn’t have any mobile reception. Leaving her car, she walked towards the barn to see if a house was on the other side of it.  

A large cotton field with sixty-inch rows with no end was behind the barn and circling to the other side. Between the rows were patterns of squares laid out like a checkered board.

What kind of seeds can be planted between cotton in the shape of tiny squares? 

Her curiosity got the best of her, and she stopped and walked in that direction to look and see.

Reaching the first square, Kate gasped. 

This cannot be, she thought. 

Tiny little heads of babies, the sizes of small miniature cabbages, were planted in neatly placed squares. Severed from their bodies, the moonlight showed their eye sockets with tiny wildflowers growing through them.

Have a lovely Autumn and be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

#WEP August 2022 Challenge Moonlight Sonata #Winner Pat Garcia writes her #guestpost – Writing With WEP — Pat Garcia

Good Morning, Everyone, I have taken the WEP Blog Post from their blog that announced my winning the August WEP and posted it here on my blog because I desire to spread the word about this excellent platform for unpublished or published authors. Below is not only my winner’s post but also the announcement for…

#WEP August 2022 Challenge Moonlight Sonata #Winner Pat Garcia writes her #guestpost – Writing With WEP — Pat Garcia

THE WEP’S AUGUST 2022, MOONLIGHT SONATA CHALLENGE, The Power of Touch BY Pat Garcia @pat_garcia, #WEP, #IWSG, Many Thanks To all!

Tagline:  Her glances revealed the short, distinct, presto beats as her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. The vibrations of her chest painted her laughter, and the nodding of her head the intensity of her feeling.

The Power of Touch

How beautiful you are, my darling!

Oh, how beautiful!

Your eyes are doves. (SS 1:16 NIV 2011)*

Gianluca saw the pureness of Aniyah’s soul through her eyes. As she looked deep into his, her gaze allowed him to hear the adagio of the triplets of the piano keys introducing the eternal beginning of the melancholic principal theme as she slowly swayed her body from left to right. Her stare gave him some semblance of the longevity of the musical arrangement. He got up from the bar stool and walked around the grand piano, and sat on the piano stool next to her. 

His severely damaged ears perceived sounds through her body, and he listened to the wistfulness of the keys she played through the power of touching her. She played the principal theme through the open lid of the Börsendorfer he’d bought her as a gift. 

Gianluca grunted. Aniyah’s reaction to his gift still lingered in his memory. Tears had spilled from her eyes, and her arms had hugged his chest tightly. Overwhelmed, she had even tried to embrace the Börsendorfer that now stood in their living room.  

Such an emotional woman; she was worthy of so much more.

She had given him back a reason to live. 

The rhythm of the principal theme flowed through the sways of her body. Gianluca closed his eyes and encircled her waist so he could listen to the dark, solemn tones that beguiled him as he touched her. He was in love with Aniyah and with the Moonlight Sonata. It was his favorite musical piece by Beethoven. The sad, melancholy opening reminded him of his loss and his gain. 

Bombs bursting not far from where he had sought safety had profoundly damaged his ears and robbed him of his auditory nerves. His sensorineural hearing loss was permanent. 

Aniyah’s patience had taught him how to hear with his soul; to release his hatred at becoming deaf; to forgive and not to blame. She’d shown him how valuable Sign Language, Lip Reading, and most importantly, how touch could help him perceive sounds. He imagined the invisible reality of the waves passing through his defunct auditory canal.

Gianluca sat next to her, watching her facial mimic, feeling the movement of her body. Their forthcoming evening of pleasure played out like a movie in his mind as he imagined the dark, grave, timbre of the triplets played, and he smiled.  


Aniyah glanced at her husband as her fingers touched the keys. His curly black hair bounced. 

Strange that a man with such pleasing, good looks could have so many inner scars. 

Even more weird was how she had met him. The anguish on his face after she’d grabbed him from the edge of the platform where the velocity of a fast-moving train created a back draft. She’d sensed that he couldn’t hear the train approaching. She’d pulled him back just in time. The train would have sucked him into its path. Not knowing if he could sign language, she’d used it to see if he could. When he nodded his head, she apologized for grasping him so tightly. And their relationship started. A tight hug around the waist to pull him out of harm’s way had gotten her her favorite Cappuccino, a club sandwich, and then a slice of German Chocolate Cake at a Cafe. The afternoon had turned into evening. Dinner followed, and she’d found herself involved with an incredible stranger who now had a name, Gianluca Abate. Refusing to let her go, he told her his life story through sign language. 

Aniyah, a boisterous woman with a teeny-weeny afro who had just turned forty, had been raised in an orphanage. When she was six years old, she heard the Moonlight Sonata for the first time and knew she wanted to be a pianist. When Aniyah turned thirty-five, she finally left the only home she’d known and started working as a dishwasher in a restaurant in a small town with a community college some two hundred and fifty kilometers away to study music. Now, she was married to Gianluca, whom she’d taught to hear through the power of touch. 

She slowed her swaying movements, so Gianluca could feel the tones vibrating through her body and hear the end of the principal theme. Taking a three-second pause, she turned slightly to gaze at him. Smiling, she quickly kissed him before moving into the second theme with its Allegretto three-fourth pace. Her glances revealed the short, distinct, presto beats as her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. Her swaying picked up momentum, and Gianluca’s fingers thumped her waist, confirming that he was with her. Her fingers skirted down the keyboard of her Börsendorfer, and the movement intensified as she approached the Presto Agitato of the third theme; she gave all of herself to what the black notes spoke to her. 

Abruptly, she slowed the tempo, intentionally allowing herself to hold specific notes sustained, and closed her eyes to enjoy the timbre herself, and she felt Gianluca’s fingers walk across her waistline in beat with the piece as if he were playing the piano himself. She was happy he heard what she heard, albeit with his soul. Thankful that she’d taught him to treasure the power of hearing, not by listening but by perceiving it through touch, she smiled.

And wheresoever he entered, into villages, or into cities, or into the country, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and besought him that they might touch if it were but the border of his garment: and as many as touched him were made whole. (Mark 6:56 ASV)*

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

*Song of Songs 1:16, Taken from the New International Version 2011, Zondervan, A Part of HarperCollins Christian Publishing

*Mark 6:56, Taken from the American Standard Version, Publisher, Olive Tree, Copyright, Public Domain


Tagline: One ounce of love is all you need.

Single, intelligent, robust, and well-groomed, this woman was a  hooker who managed her company with pride. Quick-witted and clever, her shrewdness demanded respect from her customers. She did not tolerate foolishness. As managing director, she had learned early in life how to pit herself against the male dominating class. In her line of work, she needed,

•           This hardness, 

•           This steadfastness, 

•           This I can do anything mentality. 

She shunned popularity, yet she couldn’t avoid it. Everyone from the prominent to the penniless pauper knew her address. 

Female friends—No, thank you. She learned early to refrain from friendships. Her kind represented the scum of society.  

After all, she committed acts of intimacy genteel women would never dream of doing. For them, intimacy represented a charitable act of kindness toward their husbands that had to be tolerated. 

Never mind that the prostitute was the bread earner in her family; forget that she ran a profitable establishment; don’t even consider that she took pride in doing the best with what she had. 

The fact that she sold her body labeled her as riffraff, unfit to be respected––with the exception of the nighttime pleasures she gave to whoever could afford it.

When the two men showed up at her hotel, she knew something was about to occur, which would destroy her and her family if she did not take matters into her own hands and bargain quickly. The men were different and stood out among all the other guests that frequented her establishment. Besides, contrary to most men, they weren’t demanding she spread her legs to practice her trade. They showed respect to a woman the town called a whore.

Can you see her?

A woman shunned by society,

•           A prostitute, 

•           A hooker, 

•           A whore,

Offering the two men lodging for the night up in the roof of her house. She even hid them under stalks of flax. She was a woman with enough love in her heart to lie when the king of Jericho sent her a message demanding that the two men be turned over to him.

Before the men lay down for the night, the prostitute went up to the roof to negotiate. Bargaining was something she excelled in, and she got what she wanted, freedom and safety for all her loved ones and made the spies swear to it.  

As the spies departed her home, they said, “This oath you made us swear will not be binding on us unless, when we enter the land, you have tied this scarlet cord in the window through which you let us down, and unless you have brought your father and mother, your brothers and all your family into your house. If any of them go outside your house into the street, their blood will be on their own heads; we will not be responsible. As for those who are in the house with you, their blood will be on our head if a hand is laid on them. But if you tell what we are doing, we will be released from the oath you made us swear.” *

This woman changed her destiny and the destiny of her whole family. That’s all it took. One ounce of love, and Rahab, the harlot, became a heroine. All you need is love.


Wishing all of you the very best. 

Until next time,

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

*Verses taken from Joshua 2:17-20, New International Version 2011, Zondervan, a part of HarperCollins Christian Publishing


Hello, Everyone!

I am a proud member of the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB and for the next 48 hours (11/15 through 11/17) there is a $25 discount on any membership tier when you join the club!

We aren’t just an organization where you add your name to our roster, and then you disappear.  We are the club that supports our members in numerous ways! Here are just a few…

-We purchase, read, and review our fellow member books that are listed in the catalog.

-We promote our fellow members and their books on social media, just as hard as we promote ourselves.

-We promote our members with interviews via our RAVE WAVES Talk Radio Shows for RRBCmembers only.  Books are always being purchased during those interviews!

-We keep our fellow members lifted and promoted even when they can’t promote themselves (in the event of personal emergencies, illness, etc.)

-We have a hard-working Tweet Support Team, promoting our members and their books daily.

-At RRBC, we believe that “each one should teach one,” therefore, we don’t compete against each other.  We lift as we climb.

There are so many more awesome ways that being a member of RRBC has benefitted me and I would love to share them all with you.  Have questions?  Just ask me! 

RRBC is such a fun place to belong!  We’re not just about books, you know, we’re also about making beneficial connections and lifelong friendships!

Today, Monday, 11/15 through Wednesday, 11/17 are our Recruitment Days and when you join, please list my name on your membership application as the person who referred you, as I’ll get a special prize!  You can join here > RaveReviewsBookClub.wordpress.com/rrbc-join-renew

If you have specific questions regarding membership, please reach out to Paula, our Club Personal Asst!  She’s awesome!

I hope to see you on the other side of membership soon and your books in the catalog!

Thank you for sharing this page to your social media platforms for me!

Have a great week and take care.

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

WEP’S OCTOBER CHALLENGE, THE SCREAM, OCTOBER 20-22, 2021, STOP SIGNS IGNORED, A POEM, BY Pat Garcia, @pat_garcia @DeniseCCovey @YolandaRenee @LGKeltner

Tagline: Ignoring stop signs can be deadly.


It was her life the daughter screamed,

and she gazed in disdain at her mother.

The older woman stood amazed at the sixteen-year-old

and the reflection of hatred coming from her eyes.

She watched as her daughter ran into the darkness. 

On a bitterly cold night, on a lonely street, defying her warnings, 

ignoring her pleas to return home with her.

Returning home, the mother took out her rosary, began to pray, and fell asleep.

The weatherman had said the temperature would be way below freezing.

The sharp wind beating against her house confirmed his prognosis.

A loud thump against her front door awakened her, and she jumped up and hurried to look out the peep. 

But no one was there. 

Noticing the chilled room, she turned up the heat, took her rosary, and began praying again.

The sun woke her up. 

Where was that daughter of hers, she asked herself while going to retrieve the newspaper from the front door? 

Shock reverberated throughout her body 

When she opened it.

On the stoop lay her daughter, 

Frozen dead,

Before she screamed.

WEP’S AUGUST 2021 CHALLENGE WINNERS, @DeniseCCovey, @yolandarenee, @OlgaGodim, @LGKeltner,@jemifraser, @nilabose, @cleemckenzie, @NickPWilford #amwritingfiction, #IWSG

The WEP Winners have been announced. The competition was stiff as always. I am so thankful to be writing in a challenge where writers (most of us are Authors) pour their hearts out six times a year in each prompt and then help those that participated by critiquing and giving encouragement. 

The WEP makes a difference in my life as a writer.  

Thanks, WEP Team, for consistently presenting us with great prompts that bring out the best in us.

The winners are listed below.

Kalpana Misra

Carole Stolz 

Pat Garcia

I have inserted the names of all of the authors with the link to each of their stories below. Those of you who take the time to read them will not regret it. These authors deliver first-class short stories. 

1. Denise Covey  8. Pat Garcia  15. Sally  
2. Yolanda Renee  9. Hilary Melton-Butcher  16. Sanhita Mukherjee  
3. Jemi Fraser  10. SUSAN B. ROUCHARD  17. Kalpana Misra  
4. L.G. Keltner  11. N. R. Williams  18. Carole Stolz  
5. Sonia dogra  12. Olga Godim  19. Roland Clarke  
6. Charlotte (MotherOwl)  13. Nilanjana Bose  20. Jamie  
7. J Lenni Dorner  14. Christopher Scott 

Have a great month of September and continue to be safe.

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

WEP CHALLENGE, AUGUST 18-20, 2021, FREEDOM’S CALLING, CREATIVE NON-FICTION By Pat Garcia, @pat_garcia, #WEP, #amwriting, #writingchallenge

Freedom’s Calling 

Was there no mercy for a child of nine years who, unlike others, was brought up in a home that had spoken a different language than English? Black skin, nappy hair that a fine-tooth comb couldn’t even go through, the child’s place was to listen and obey, but what if she didn’t understand?

Born in 1797 in upstate New York, if she had known the torment she would endure at nine years of age after being separated from her family, she probably would have cursed the day she was born and died. 

Purchased by a family who spoke no Dutch, the girl spoke no English. Her owners, infuriated at her lack of English, beat the language into her with rods and leather. She was not a person for them but an unruly, disobedient piece of property that did not understand and therefore could not follow orders. She became an It.

For It, lashings became a way of life; the beatings hurt and left intolerable bruises. But It found freedom in the God her masters sang about. Later, whenever they beat her, she would pray aloud, hoping the God she had come to believe in would rescue her from the torture. He did.

Sold to a tavern owner, she went to live in a bar and house of prostitution. The beatings stopped. Here, she saw the cruelties against women and the ruthlessness of men. She discovered her voice, and it dawned on her that she was not an It but a woman, a human being. 

Unfortunately, her owner sold her. Her respite in the bar only lasted one and a half years. The pause gave her time to refuel and strengthen herself for the unknown brutality that awaited her in the future. Being denied the right to marry the father of her firstborn child because a neighboring plantation owner owned him and opposed the marriage, due to the fact the newborn would not be his property, she had to marry a slave owned by her new master, an older man who impregnated her four times.

On July 4, 1827, the state of New York issued its own Emancipation Proclamation and freed all slaves, but the woman who had endured so many hardships, and maintained her toughness, and her faith in the good of humanity was already free and had already started seeking to find her thirteen children––the children she had borne that were taken away and sold into slavery.

During the Great Spiritual Awakening, she had a life-changing experience, which would change the way she lived and changed her name.  This woman became a friend of the progressive Quakers; she spoke out for the Civil War, recruited black men to fight for the Union, worked in government refugee camps for freed slaves, and spoke out for women’s rights.

She made her most famous speech in 1851 at the Ohio Women’s Rights Convention, held in Akron, Ohio. Let’s hear the address from the woman herself: 


Ain’t I a woman

“Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that ‘twixt the negroes of the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this here talking about?

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what’s this they call it? [member of audience whispers, “intellect”] That’s it, honey. What’s that got to do with women’s rights or negroes’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can’t have as much rights as men, ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman! Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.

Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner ain’t got nothing more to say.” 


Three days after Thanksgiving, on November 26, 1883, on a wintry, cold day in Michigan, this woman completed her mission at eighty-six years of age. She took flight. Isabella Baumfree, better known as Sojourner Truth, born and raised in slavery, died a free woman and Walked On!

Wishing all of you a lovely month. I hope to see you in October. 

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia


There are so many benefits to attending Writers’ conferences. They offer writers the opportunity to get to know and relate to others, and the RRBC’s 6th Annual Writers’  Conference & Book Expo, is no exception. Here you will meet new people, greet old friends, and get acquainted with the latest works by authors you know and love to read.  

There will be games, prizes, surprises, and other goodies, so be sure to visit each Author Booth, take a look around, then leave a comment for your chance to win each Author Booth’s door prize!  

There is a Scavenger Hunt Game to play, a 2 Truths & a Lie Game to play, and more!  In each Author Booth, you will find a clue, and if you find the correct answer to all the clues and are the first to submit your answers, you could be the winner of an awesome prize!  

Of course, we’ll have our READING ROOM open, and one of our members is going to blow you away showcasing their talent!  

If you’re into BINGO, purchase your BINGO cards and join us for a game or two!

And what we all wait for every year – our RAFFLE!  Yes, each year, we raffle off (7) $100 Amazon gift cards, and this is open to the public, so go on and snag your tickets today!  Raffle tickets are only $5!  How awesome would that prize be?  Some of them also include additional goodies like other gift certificates, ebooks, and more!  Enter for your chance to win one or more of these $100 Amazon gift card gift baskets.  The more tickets you buy, the greater your chances of winning.  (Please do not purchase more than 7 tickets).

This year for the first time ever, we’ve added our BEST BOOK COVER CONTEST!  This contest is open to the general public, so go ahead and enter your book cover(s) now!  Share your comments with us, and let us know which one you think is best!

Click for a full ITINERARY OF EVENTS!  

Don’t forget the venue opens at 5 PM( CST) TODAY.  We hope to see you there!  In the event of minor time delays, please check the sidebar of the RRBC website for updates.

As they say in the Deep South, I’ll see y’all there!

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

Thank You WEP TEAM FOR THE GREAT WAVE TEAM CHOICE AWARD @DeniseCCovey @yolandarenee @OlgaGodim @LGKeltner Nilanjana Bose, #WEP

Sometimes life is not fair; it is messy. You enter a transition phase that throws you into outer darkness. 

At these moments in my life, the God I believe in dapples my way with splinters of light. These splinters are tiny pieces of hope and come primarily from two organizations where my writing is showcase or self-publish.  One of these groups of authors is simply called The WEP (Write, Edit, and Publish).

I have been writing for them for almost eight years.  They have seen me crawl through the quagmire of my mind to find the essence of my writing voice, and this entire community of writers strengthens my hope when I need it. 

So today, I say thank you for the GREAT WAVE TEAM CHOICE AWARD, an award that I will cherish. The price of becoming an author is never easy, but it is times like these that make it well worth it. 

Here is the link to the  Great Wave Winners’ Page and the announcement of the award given to me. 


It is also worth taking the time to read some of these authors. They are a fabulous group of writers. The links to all the stories are posted here below. 

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia


1. Denise Covey  15. Pat Garcia  
2. Nilanjana Bose  16. L.G. Keltner  
3. Yolanda Renee  17. Olga Godim  
4. Carol Stolz  18. N. R. Williams  
5. Sanhita Mukherjee  19. Lenny Lee  
6. Kalpana  20. Roland R Clarke  
7. Rebecca Douglass  21. Steph Wolmarans  
8. Jemima Pett  22. Dixie Jo Jarchow  
9. Hilary  23. Sonia Dogra  
10. Sally Stackhouse  24. Charlotte (MotherOwl)  
11. Michael Di Gesu  25. SUSAN B. ROUCHARD  
12. Jemi Fraser  26. Anne E.G. Nydam  
13. C J Austin  27. Pennie Nichols  
14. Naughty Netherworld Press  28. Jackie Begue  

WEP’S June Challenge, The Flood No One Thought Would Come, A Creative Non-Fiction Story by Pat Garcia

The man worked hard. He and his three sons hammered and pitched each wooden plank together. Sure, people thought he was crazy, but that didn’t disturb him. He closed his ears to what others said. If he were honest, and he was,  he didn’t give a hoot. He hadn’t made it so far in life by seeking the approval of others.

 The other day his sons had informed him that the neighbors thought he was insane. He had laughed and told his sons to get to work before he fired them. After all, he was not only their father but their employer. No one would give them the amount of money for the kind of work they did for him.  They had no choice.

The father gazed down at the oldest son, looking up at the sun,  and the old man thought about the discussion they had had the night before.  His sons thought he was a daydreamer and had invited a lawyer to his house without his permission. Their excuse for not telling him had him laughing. They wanted to rattle his brain. 

After talking with him, the lawyer said that declaring their father as insane wouldn’t work. Besides, the majority of the judges knew him too well as that no-nonsense man that spoke what he thought.   

 The sons’  wives were outraged, shouting they had become the laughing stock of the whole town, maybe the whole world. They were sick and tired of people pointing fingers at them. So, what,  the old man said when they had tried to explain what it meant to them not to be among the popular crowd they considered their friends. Come to my house for tea, my wife would enjoy your company, he’d answered back.


The temperature had risen to forty degrees Celsius. The oldest son went to get a water bottle. As he passed his brothers,  their accusatory looks felt like knives in his back. He had promised that he would speak with their father alone, once more.

He grabbed a bottle of water and went in the direction of his father. His father had turned to sit, his head hung down in his bosom. Oh my, the oldest son thought. The old man has died from the heat.  He almost screamed help, but his father moved his head with a strange gaze and looked upward into the sun. 

“Were you taking a little nap, father?” He asked. 

“No, I was listening. I got further instructions,” the old man said. 

The oldest son shook his head. “Father, there is no God who talks to people. You’re making us think you’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not crazy, my son,” said the old man. “You are.”

“So, what did he tell you this time?” The eldest son asked sarcastically. 

“The animals will come on the boat tomorrow.  He’ll bring them here. We have to put the feed and everything else in the ship tonight. “

“Father, I want you to stop this foolishness right now,” the oldest son screamed.

The old man stood. “You and your brothers get to work. We have a lot to do before the animals come and get your wives prepared to leave, and don’t forget to bring the food rations I told you to gather.”

By the afternoon of the following day, the boat was ready to be filled. Suddenly noises from the forest neared. The animals were there, and they stood in pairs and walked peacefully into the ship. Some went on the first level, others to the second level, and the birds flew up to the third level. 

“Come, Woman,” said the old man to his wife. 

The three sons gazed at their wives and shrugged. The middle son said, “Let’s pacify him. He’ll never believe the foolishness he’s put us all through until we go into the boat and sit with him for an hour or two. . “In fact, if we do that,” the son rationed,  “it’ll be easy to get him qualified as incompetent and incapable of conducting his own affairs.” He chuckled. “This ark is our proof.”

 All three brothers and their wives followed the old man and his wife into the ark. 

As soon as they were inside this big belly of an ark, they heard the mighty roar of  wind; a loud bang shut the door. Locked inside, with shock on their faces, they turned to look at their father. 

“How did you do that? Open that door right now!” the oldest son yelled.

“I didn’t do anything. If you want to open the door, do it yourself. I’m going up on the third deck to have my dinner with my wife.” 

As their father took to the stairs, the pitter-patter sounds of rain hit against the ship’s broad side. 

“What’s that noise?” Asked the youngest son. 

His father stopped midway and turned. “That’s the rain, my son, that you all thought wouldn’t come.

 The old man, Noah, stayed in the ark for three hundred and sixty-four days, and the greatest flood that ever was and ever will be swept across the face of the earth.


Thank you for reading. Have a lovely June/July. I’ll see you in August.

Shalom aleichem

Pat Garcia

WEP CHALLENGE, APRIL 21-23, 2021, LAWD,LAWD, BY Pat Garcia

LAWD, LAWD by Pat Garcia


Looked to the east,

Spring revolution,

Freedom cries

Bodies lay in the streets.


Freedom’s mourning.


Turned to my left,

And went further north.

People marched,

Demanding equality.

Bombs dropped,

Chemicals filled the air,

Agitation, pain, suffocation,

Bodies drop dead while moving,

Breath’s gone


Freedom’s mourning.


Took flight and crossed over.

Gazed at the river,

Water, blue. 

River wide, river deep,

Stepped quickly,

Turned aside to my right,

Someone waded the water,

People stood on the bank,

On the other side.

“There she is,” someone shouted.

“I got her,” said the other.

Plopped went the noise.

The shot shattered the peacefulness of the night.

Birds scattered from their nests.

The body kept swimming.

She reached the bank.

Her hand grabbed some weeds,

Blood muddied the water,

And the nappy-headed woman whispered through the dawn of the early morning,


Freedom morning,

Before she sank.


Wishing everyone a lovely day. Take care.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

Welcome to Day 2 of #RRBC’S ’20 WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG TOUR! @RRBC_Org @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA @kirazian

The Long and Short Stories of Life

Good morning, Readers,

It’s my pleasure to feature today, author Liza Kirazian. Lisa is a very supportive member of the Rave Reviews Book Club. Please be sure to leave a comment below to ensure that you have a chance at winning a $20 Amazon Gift Card!

Appassionato (The Music We Made—Book 2)

Appassionato, Book Two of “The Music We Made” series, continues the passionate story of the next generation of the Driscoll family of musicians as Jenny Driscoll, a composer and conductor, navigates her personal and professional life in London in the 1990’s.

Author’s Bio

Lisa Kirazian writes fiction, plays, screenplays, and also directs for stage and screen. 

Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Performing Arts Magazine, San Diego Union Tribune and in many other publications. She is in demand as a speaker and has been a guest on KPBS/NPR Public Radio and at various conferences. Lisa is…

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Join in the celebration of #RRBCAuthor @sharrislaughter, #RRBC’s November “SPOTLIGHT” Author! #Author of #OurLadyOfVictory

Good Morning Everyone,

Don’t ever say that History cannot be corrected. Where there is a will, there is a way. The second edition of Our Lady Of Victory by Author Shirley Harris Slaughter has been released. It has many new updates on this historic church that will interest many.


This is a second edition with updates on the state of this historic church. In the original publication files were lost then resurfaced with content altered along with missing photos during transition from one publisher to another. Such is the fate of an Independent Author.

This book evolved out of years of frustration at the total disregard and lack of respect for the contributions of Black Catholics in the city of Detroit. The author says, “We are not mentioned in the pages of history along with the other Catholic churches that sprung up during the World War II era, and that needed to be corrected.” The author did fulfill one dream since publication … that this church can now be found on the web even though it has merged with another church. It is now called Presentation-Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church.

Picture below: Author Shirley Harris-Slaughter

Get your copy today!

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia


Good Morning Everyone,
Today is Day 11 of the RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour. Author Nonnie Jules presents herself by putting her thoughts in poetic prose.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Welcome to the 2020 WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour!

Featured Author for Thursday, 11/19/20…

RWISA Author, Nonnie Jules!


We often hear that music is the universal language.  It is the avenue to bridge all divides –

racial divides

gender divides

political divides.    

But, in the midst of all the division,

each party holding court in their respective corners of the ring,

ears lightly tickled by the sound of the simple “IMAGINE” by John Lennon,

wafting through the musky air of tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons –

a mist of standstill calms the noise

…and in mere moments, the eyes of “independent” onlookers are pleasantly greeted by the most beautiful and welcoming sight –

…bodies slowly rocking

…hands collectively raised

…waving side to side

…all in unison  


 “Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try…”

The 2020 US election has…

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Good Morning Everyone,
We’re into Day 10 of the RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour. Today’s story features Author Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko. She’s written an engaging tale that you will enjoy.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Good Morning Everyone,
Today is Day 9 of the RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour. A new excellently written story greets you, Authored by Wendy J. Scott. Read and enjoy.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Good Morning Everyone,
This is Day 8 of the RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour and here is an encouraging story that will lift up your Monday.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Welcome to the 2020 WATCH“RWISA”WRITE Showcase Tour!

Featured Author for Monday, 11/16/20…

RWISAAuthor, PTL Perrin!


Eden backed her Boston Whaler, Eden’s End, away from the dock, swung her nose into the current and gave the outboard a little gas. Still in the no-wake zone, her granddaughter hung over the side near the stern and trailed her hand in the water.

“Leigh, a shark’s gonna bite that thing right off.”

“No, it won’t. See the dolphins alongside?” She pointed her dripping finger at a pair of breeching dolphins. “Everyone knows they protect folks from sharks.”

Eden shook her head, grinned, and watched the sleek bodies leap through gray water until the pod outdistanced them. She’d never heard of a shark this far up the intracoastal, but she enjoyed teasing Leigh, even if the girl didn’t like it much. Besides, she wouldn’t have to put up with…

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Good Afternoon Everyone,
The RWISA WRITES Showcase is in its sixth day. Today Harriet Hodgson is being featured. She is an author that has a story to tell.
Please take the time and read her remarkable heartwarming story.

Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Welcome to the 2020 WATCH“RWISA”WRITE Showcase Tour!

Featured Author for Saturday, 11/14/20…

RWISA Author, Harriet Hodgson!


My husband and I live in a retirement community that has a continuum of care. He is paraplegic and I have been his caregiver since 2013. Several months ago, my husband was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer. A bone scan showed the cancer had spread to many parts of his body. As my husband became weaker, I realized I needed help to care for him.

Now my husband is in a rehabilitation unit. Unfortunately, COVID-19 prevents me from seeing him. I live on the 18th floor of the high-rise and my husband lives on the third floor. We are near each other, yet so far away. Being apart from each other made us feel stressed, frustrated, and down.

Then I received a notice in my mailbox. A…

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Good Morning Everyone,
Another intriguing author, Linnea Tanner, and an excerpt from one of her stories on the fourth day of RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour.
Take a few minutes and enjoy this wonderful tale.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia


Welcome to the 2020 WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour!

Featured Author for Thursday, 11/12/20…

RWISA Author, Linnea Tanner!


At dawn tomorrow, I compete with every reputed warrior in our kingdom to become the King’s Champion. Defeating my opponents is almost an impossible feat for any man, much less a woman. Even so, I will triumph and win my father’s respect.

As the king’s eldest daughter, I vow to protect him and everyone in his kingdom. I stand ready to defend my father in mortal combat against any challenger vying for his crown. A true champion emblazons courage, loyalty, and sacred love for her king and family. But first, I must tell you my tale that seeded my desire to combat every warrior in the kingdom and stand by my father as his champion.

 When I was barely five winters old, my mother and I gathered with villagers to…

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Hello Everyone,
Day 3 of RWISA WRITES Showcase Tour.
Robert Fear is presenting today.
Shalom aleichem
Pat Garcia

Welcome to Day 1 of the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA #RWISAWRW

Good Morning Everyone,
For the next eleven days, RWISA will be featuring their writers in a showcase.
Come and get to know some of the best authors that we have in the world. They are not only magnificent authors but they are awesome people.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia

Writing and Music

I am super excited to be participating in the 2020 Watch “RWISA” Write Showcase! And we are kicking it off with the amazing and talented #RWISA Author, Yvette Calleiro!

The Journey

Dear self,

Oh, the journey we have had…

Its ups and downs and sideway twists,

The moments of exhilaration,

The quickened pulse and caught breath,

The scenes that left lingering loops of trauma,

The journey we have had.

And the journey we are on…

Getting to know you

With no boundaries or judgment,

With love and kindness,

Living one new moment at a time,

The journey we are on.

Ah, the journey before us…

Awareness and acceptance all around,

Gratitude grounding us,

Pausing to make peace with whatever may come,

Living to learn from experience,

Trusting where I am is

Where I need to be,

Embracing curiosity and a zest for life,

Sharing loving- kindness with each path crossing…

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The Story of the POW/MIA Flag

Good Morning Everyone,

I’m back and will start blogging again. Here is an engaging article that caught my attention this morning.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

CherriesWriter - Vietnam War website

600x265xpowflag.jpg.pagespeed.ic.mnJSpOVFowNewt Heisley, with the POW/MIA flag he designed. (Copyright Don Jones Photography)

*Heisley planned to add color to the black-and-white image, but those ideas were dropped

Article by Marc Leepson.

You see it everywhere—the stark, black-and-white POW/MIA flag—flying in front of VA hospitals, post offices and other federal, state and local government buildings, businesses and homes. It flaps on motorcycles, cars and pickup trucks. The flag has become an icon of American culture, a representation of the nation’s concern for military service personnel missing and unaccounted for in overseas wars.

From the Revolution to the Korean War, thousands of U.S. soldiers, Marines, airmen and sailors have been taken prisoner or gone missing. But it took the Vietnam War—and a sense of abandonment felt by wives and family members of Americans held captive—to bring forth what has evolved into the nation’s POW/MIA symbol.


The POW/MIA flag is inextricably tied to…

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The tingling of Jingle Bells heard on the streets,
Hurried, stressed, shopping,
Goose, turkey, deer, lamb or fish on the table,
That bring indigestion,
Overeating that deadens the guilty pull of our consciences,
Blinding us to the fact that over half the world is starving.
We get up from our tables,
With our plates still full of what we did not eat.


The celebration that has been taken over by our arrogance
Has been willfully dissected down to a small dot over the i to meet our emotional needs for belonging.

Our demands are for autonomy that separates us from the Creator who made us, demanding recognition as self-made men and women.

The virgin birth quietly disdained.

The God-Man ridiculed for such an unpopular entrance.

Unbelievable, we say.

His birth abhorred.
The Savior downgraded.



It’s about humiliation,
Believing in the virgin birth of the God-Man who upset the world.

Time changed from Before Christ to Anno Domini
And Salvation,
That dirty word that people seldom hear,

But when heard too often denied,
Opened the door to righteousness for all.

Though rejected by many, Love prevails.
Not in the gifts bought in department stores,
Not in the glamour of cosmetics, jewelry, or face-lifts,
Not in diamonds, silver, or gold,

Not in bonds, securities, puts, or calls,

Not in Christmas trees or cradles,
Not in boats, cars, planes, or trains,
That transport us away from the diffusion of our congregated confusion.

Christmas exists,

Because God took it upon himself to offer up the One sacrifice that would save us all.

Now Heaven’s gates are opened to all who believe.

That’s Christmas.

For God so loved the World that He gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16, The New International Version 1984 (NIV), Zondervan



Merry Christmas everyone,

Joyeux Noël à tous

Fröhliche Weihnachten an alle,
Buon Natale a tutti



Shalom aleichem,






Pat Garcia

Starting 2017 By Pat Garcia


It’s best to start out slow.

Let everyone pass by you.

Regard the scenery,


Examine the obstacles,

Proof the ridges,

Learn how to ride the wave

And prepare yourself for the tide.

Always count your cost,

Estimate time needed,



But don’t forget the rest zones,

Everyone needs them,

You also.

Having a plan never hurts.

Drawing a map doesn’t bring you off course.

It may slow you down, due to the unforeseen,

But the plan keeps you moving,

Even if only step by step.

If you don’t see light,

And the silver lining in the cloud seems to hide,

Don’ fret, don’t give up,

You have the map in your head,

The vision in your heart,

2017 has just started.

Enjoy the breeding months of winter

Where fermentation takes place below.

And seeds of hope germinate,

Gain strength,

Waiting to push their way upward,

As they gather  strength to sprout.

Give yourself time before you pick up speed

And run like the gazelle.

Wait until the wind is no longer hitting you in the face,

But pushing you forward from behind.

Wishing all of you an awesome 2017.

Until the 20th of January, be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016

Pat Garcia


Thank You for Your Support during The National Novel Writing Month


It is the sixth day of December, and I am catching up after a month of NaNo (National Novel Writing Month) and three lovely days attending an online writers’ conference and book expo by RRBC from the first of December until the third of December. I now look forward to getting back into my routine.


Thanks to everyone who cheered me on during the month of November. I wrote 63,036 words on the third book of my series. Revision will start sometime next year.


Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016





Pat Garcia

Shock by Pat Garcia

the-silent-majority-a-group-of-faceless-peopleShock shook the earth.

At first, only tiny tremors,

Politicians had ignored them.

The media had made fun,

Expounding their ignorance.

But, the tremors became stronger.

What happened?

Where did we go wrong?

The ceiling is still in tact.

The glass didn’t shatter,

People can’t take a splitter as a souvenir,

As some did with the Berliner Wall in 1989.

What happened?

What went wrong?

Who can we blame?

For ignoring the cries of the Silent Majority.

Until December 9th, be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016

Pat Garcia

The Champions Who Walked Among Us – The Black Pearl




Not many people know about her.

Her resistance to segregation,

Her refusal to bow down to a system that degraded people of color made her a Pariah.

She raised twelve children from different nationalities.

No one mentions the hardships of this StrongBlackWoman in the history books.

A woman who refused to bow down to a Jim Crow system.

Very few Americans talk about her.

She sang and danced,

And she spied for the French Resistance.

She became the first woman of color to star in a major motion picture production.

She defied the system.

In her own way, she challenged the erroneous lies promulgated by a nation.

Her departure from her country caused many people to breathe easier;

Some even said good riddance to this dancing woman who dared to dance at the Folies Bergères clothed in bananas.

Her banana dance was considered scandalous to the puritanical thinking bred in her country.

She helped save a nation.

Not the nation of her birth, but the nation of the people who adopted her in their hearts.

That same woman became a French Citizen and was buried in the Cimetière de Monaco.

She was the first and only American woman to receive full military honors for her funeral.

Born in Saint Louis, Missouri, in 1906, this Black Woman, an African-American, Freda Josephine McDonald, alias Josephine Baker is known as The Black Pearl.



Until November 11th, be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016





Pat Garcia

LOSS – A Tribute by Pat Garcia


In Honor of  Joseph Rubin, +October 11, 2016

canstockphoto2776012 white orchid

A gnawing pain,

A searing burn,

A deep emotional cut,

Slices and separates.

Leaving a zip zagged scar,

Unable to heal quickly,

A wound which reminds things will never be the same.


The world changed with your departure.

It is our loss.

A voice is missing,

A beloved no longer breathes the same air.

The shouts of hello and laughter by blogging and sharing thoughts are hushed,

Frustration seeps in; tears flow,

The value of the beloved recognized

Through loss.


An ache no salve can squelch.

No balsam can soothe,

It is our loss.

Your departure finds you beyond the Jordan.

No boat can transport us,

No plane can fly us,

No car can drive us,

No train can ride the tracks that lead into Jordan.

There is no rectification.

The loss cannot be wipe away.

For you cannot return.


How fleeting this life, we think we own?

How precious the breath we breathe?

How futile our thinking we master our fate?


Loss disturbs and reconstructs the status quo.

Down, down, deep in our souls,

We come against a sudden change we must learn to accept.


Recognition of the loss tumult within us.

Nothing will ever be the same.

A beloved has taken flight.


Down, down, deep in our souls,

We hear unspoken words of kindness,

Words we forgot to say,

No longer relevant.

Our hurt deepens at the missed opportunities.

We can no longer share them.



A separation has taken place,

The pain grinds, gnaws, sears, and desiccates.



No bandage fits it.

It’s an open wound that festers.

It heals daily by seconds, minutes, hours, days,

Weeks, months, and years.

How many?

No one can say.


In the treasure troves of our hearts.

We know that we know that we know,

Nothing will ever erase your presence.

You are our loss.



A reminder,

We too shall go.

And our flight will be someone’s loss,

When we hear the trumpet call,

To cross over the Jordan.


Rest In Peace, Joe.

Shalom aleichem,Pat Garcia August 13 2016

Pat Garcia



Freedom by Pat Garcia


Freedom by Pat Garcia

A strange word,


It beguiles,









In a world where acceptance rules,

FREEDOM dwells;

Understanding flourishes;

Toleration becomes a border;

Delusions vanish;

Community evolves.

Freedom walks,

In a world where acceptance rules,

 And fear dissipates.

Freedom speaks out,

People listen and dance to their own beat

In Unity,

Which encourages,

And community evolves.

Freedom loves,

In a world where acceptance rules,

Without chains,

But demands consequences,







And faithfulness.

When freedom exists,

Prejudices take flight,

Respect marches in,

The Creation breathes easier,

The Spirit, the tiny funk deposited in us surfaces,

And fences come down,

Communication erupts like Mount Etna,

Wars cease,

Children no longer die young,

Women dance in the streets,

Men rise above their differences,

And Community evolves.

Until October 14th, be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

Work, A Poem by Pat Garcia





The day ends.

Work is undone,

Not yet finished,

It looms in the background,


Another day begins.

Work is undone,

No longer looming,

But pressing,

Demanding attention.

Oh, the joy work fulfills or robs,

The disappointment it brings,

When overtime must be done,

And work becomes the victor that kills love,

That has turned bittersweet.

Be safe this weekend.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016

Pat Garcia

Missing by Pat Garcia










Some things get lost.

Some simply misplaced.

Some disappear into thin air,

Only to reappear at the yard sale,

Where items collected have been brought,

And the number of years,

Spent in one city,

One house,

One family,

Become a fading nostalgic memory of what used to be.


The Old Garage Shed








Missing objects sometimes suddenly reappear,

As the last breath of a life reigns us in.

Making us see the futility of our hoarding,

Our grasping for what we cannot take with us.

Missing objects cry out,

Lost but now found,

And take center stage at the yard sale.

They move into the house of another,

Or land on a huge pile at the waste disposal,

Waiting for the grinder, as we wait for the reaper.



Wishing everyone a nice weekend.

Be safe.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016





Pat Garcia

My Heart Weeps

Hello Everyone,

It feels good to be back. I have not posted anything from myself on my Walk On Blog in ages, and it is about time that I started posting again.Once a month, I will feature women we have forgotten about as I have done in the past on this blog and also share some of my poetry.

Today, a revised version of a poem I released on Esther Newton’s Blog for one of her Weekly Writing Challenges.

White Orchid for Turn The Light On and A Time To Love









Politics by Pat Garcia

My heart weeps.

Years filled with murder.

Women, children,

Old, young, dying,

My heart weeps.


Freedom, the way to live,

Dictators wanted,

Greed unquieted,

Power boosted,

Suppression of others routine,

And my heart weeps.


The best way, my way,

The right way, only my way,

People seen as dogs, infidels,

Breathing air, their air,

And my heart weeps.


Down through the Ages,

Past and now present,

The spirit of confusion, hatred, and death arises.

Turning men into war mongers,

Nations into furnaces,

Knives kill,

Like arrows diving pointedly into the soul,

Guns shoot,

Bombs explode,

Men, women, children die,

And my heart weeps.


Politics play,

Leaders encouraging each other,

As blood spills and soaks the ground,

The pavement,

The floor,

And my heart weeps.






Democracy, what?


Dictator, ah what?

Strange bedfellows,

Do they understand?


People sent out to kill,

My heart weeps,

Listening has disappeared,

Only the cry of death can be heard,

As the politicians play the games called politics.


I’m calling you Wisdom,

Cause my heart weeps.

No one has ears to hear,

Eyes to see,

Blinded by their own greed, ambition.

They say my way is the best way,

And my heart weeps.


Shall I run,

Shall I stand,

Shall I proclaim how unique; how irreplaceable life really is?

Does no one see,

Does no one hear the wailing,

Of the child

The woman,

The man,

Oh, my heart weeps.


Yes, they sit there,

The politicians

Playing  politics like a game of chess.

The men,

The women in the cabinets of this world,

Chic, but unwise,

Applauding their elite status yet knowing nothing,

And my heart weeps.


The stupidity of politics,

It scrounges, purges, and devours,

As it wipes out resistance,

As it desecrates the human spirit,

And my heart weeps.


Wishing all of you a safe weekend.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia April 4 2016






Pat Garcia








Especially for Writers

Hello Everyone,
For all writers, inspiration from quotes posted on the website of 777 Peppermint Place.
Have a great week.
Shalom aleichem,

Linda W. Yezak


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Especially for Writers

For all of the writers pondering over the feasibility of writing, here are some  words of encouragement from 777 Peppermint Place.
Have a great week.

Linda W. Yezak


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A Somewhat Other Mother’s Day by Pat Garcia

Two Thousand One,

War on Planet Earth began,

Step by step,

Country by country,

From east to west,

And north to south,

Culture fighting culture,

Tradition struggling tradition,

Religion prodding religion,

Race killing race,

Nationality prevaricating nationality,

Men predating women,

Power strangling,

Dictators glorified,

Women pained,

Children borne,

Bombs blasted in the air,

People died.


Two Thousand Three

Victory proclaimed!


Guns still heard,

Human bombs exploded,

Culture against culture,

Tradition against tradition,

Religion against religion,

Race against race

Nationality against nationality.

Supermen appeared,

No one understood them,

People died.


Two Thousand Eleven,

War continued to spread,

From east to west,

And north to south.

Talks began,

Discussions faltered,

Chemicals perfumed the air,

Children gasped and suffocated,

Women mourned,

Hands wrung in despair,

The helpless shut their eyes

As they entered eternity.

People died.


Two Thousand Fourteen,

Planet Earth restless,

Country by country,

From east to west,

And north to south.

Culture fighting culture,

Tradition struggling tradition,

Religion prodding religion,

Race killing race,

Nationality prevaricating nationality,

Dissension deepened,

Hatred increased,

Guns sounded out,

Human bombs exploded,

Bombs burst in the air,

People died.


Two Thousand Fifteen,

Human carcasses covered Planet Earth.

The ocean’s mouth opened wide,

Welcoming the feed, it received from above.

Nature blossomed; bodies fertilized its soil.

People talked,

Negotiations stalled,

Guns shot,

Human bombs exploded,

Bombs from planes killed,

As dilapidated boats on the sea transported people to their graves,

People died.


What is this disease?

That prevents us from seeing,

From hearing,

From feeling.


Grace extinct?

Mercy obsolete?

Compassion passé?


Two Thousand Sixteen,

May eighth,

Women force into prostitution,

Babies fish out of the sea,

Bombs from planes kill,

Human bombs explode,

Refugees on the run,

Barbwire fences rise,

Soldiers protect borders,

Men talk,

Governments negotiate,

People die,

And well we…

We celebrate Mother’s Day.



Shalom Aleichem,

Pat Garcia April 4 2016









Pat Garcia

Viewpoint: Precedent Historical Repetition

History is repeating itself. The age of Humanism is slowly marching off the world stage, but what comes next?   Precedent historical repetition says that sooner or later another nation will rise. After all, the human race has lived through the rise and fall of many great nations. History is repeating itself.

The situation among the cultures is precarious. The Iron Curtain is slowly rising out of its sleep and finding its home among nations that want to protect their economy and the pure ethnicity of their race. Cultural diversity is leaving the stage. History is repeating itself.

The rudimentary ordinances of nature are being disobeyed. What was once one plus one equals two is now one plus one equals whatever makes you feel good. History is repeating itself.

Over one million people are on the run. The number of people who have died so far on the ground, in airplanes, in the seas is heartbreaking. Men talked, yet children cry, children die, women cry, women die. History is repeating itself.

In every corner of the world, there is tumult. Philosophical antagonism demands closed borders.  An antagonism based on supremacy, it has plummeted us even nearer to a world war. It enacts to dominate, to make all men and women think alike. This antagonism has no mercy, no understanding, and no love. History is repeating itself.

“What are you doing, Child?” The Prophet asked.

“Watching the New Year come in over the earth.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“No, it’s not nice Prophet. It’s sad.”

“Why, Child. What do you see?”

“In every corner, I see children starving, women crying, human life wasted. Prophet, don’t people ever read about the past?”

“No, Child. That’s why History repeats itself.”


Happy New Year Everyone,

Alles Gute Zum Neuen Jahr Alle,

Bonne Nouvelle Pour Tout Le Monde,

Feliz Nuevo A Todo El Mundo,

Felice Nuovo Per Tutti,

L’Shana Tova,


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Shalom Aleichem,

Pat Garcia

Viewpoint: A Commentary on Christmas

The woman was heavy laden with child, and her husband looked at her with concern. Of course, he had to go. The census was mandatory. As he regarded his wife, he knew the journey would not be easy.

What is a few hundred miles or kilometers today? Catch a train to Hamburg from Frankfurt, Germany, and you arrive in four and a half hours, a plane ride from Augusta to Atlanta, Georgia is fifty-five minutes. However, this man did not have these comforts. His Mercedes-Benz was a donkey.

He observed his wife as he pondered over the trip ahead. Leaving her behind was not a consideration; in her was the hope of the nations, the salvation of the human race, and a shiver went through him as he thought of what could happen ahead. Thieves and robbers on the route and a desert where the temperature dropped at night were between the two cities, and ninety miles on a donkey was not a one-day ride.  He figured he might be able to travel 10 miles a day, but even that would be hard considering that she was heavily pregnant with child.

Today the significance of this event has been revised; the hardship erased. The importance of this Child’s birth has fallen into abnormality.

Soon, it is Christmas.

For me personally, it is the time when I reflect backward to that birth in Bethlehem with Thanksgiving in my heart.

His birth changed History;

His birth changed my life and gave me a vision with purpose;

The Son of God came to earth so that I could have the right to be accepted in the Beloved.

Merry Christmas to you,

Buon Natale a te,

Joyeux Noël à toi,

Frohe Weihnachten zu Ihnen,

Feliz Navidad a usted.

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Shalom Aleichem,

Pat Garcia


Viewpoint: Friday, Thirteen November 2015

Image 11-16-15 at 3.43 PMA Civil War founded upon religious beliefs and how people should live has spread itself to the European Continent. What happened in Paris, France, was a battle, and an act of war carried out by the Islamic State. That we refused to take the declaration of war seriously in 2014 has resulted in the mass, willful, killing of innocent people, which took place on Friday, the thirteenth of November.

Religion, which oppresses, is like a dictatorship suppressing the inalienable rights of each individual who lives under its umbrella. Unfortunately, these inalienable rights, known as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are also echoed by these totalitarian societies, but they are interpreted differently, and the cultural upbringing displays a life we people in the West are not accustomed to––freedom and individual development find itself caught on the blind side of life.

Hopefully, revelation has broken through the thick skull of false reality we have let descend upon us, and our eyes have been opened to see that not everyone think as we think, act as we act, and desire to live as we live. If this were true, the Islamic State would not exist.

Unfortunately, this clarity is too late for those people who lost their lives in Paris, France on that dreadful evening.

Viva la France!



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Pat Garcia



Monday Funnies with AUNTY ACID…

Morning Everyone,
Aunty Acid is at it again. I love her wisdom on dealing with the obstacles of life, especially when you’re thrown a curve ball. So whatever life throws at you today, duck so it hits someone else. You don’t have to stand there and take it. You don’t have to start your week out with negativity. So duck and keep walking.

Pat Garcia

The Seventy-Nine-Words Story Challenge



Hello Everyone,

I don’t know when it happen, but I remember reading the MONDAY FUNNIES, one morning and bursting out with laughter. I was hooked on the funnies. Laughter is not typical for me before eleven a.m. If you ask the people very close to me, they will tell you, Pat is usually unapproachable before eleven.

Honestly, as a writer, I find myself experiencing highs and lows.   It’s a writer madness that takes hold and motivates me to write what I see as I write about the world I live in during the early morning hours.

Thus, Chris Graham’s, CHRIS THE STORY READING APE’S BLOG has become a necessity in my life. It touches the humor within me, and laughter comes bubbling out.

Recently, Andrew Joyce, an author, sent out a dare, a seventy-nine-words dare to writers and it has been running on Chris’s blog as the Seventy-Nine-Words Story Challenge. Each week, stories are chosen as the best submitted. This week, one of my stories from The Child and The Prophet (a W.I.P.) was among the ones chosen and to be very honest with you that makes me happy.

To read my story and the stories of the other participants, please go to the link below. It’s only 79 words, and drop a line on Chris’s blog and let him know you were there and me too, of course.




Pat Garcia

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Pat Garcia

Its, A Mother’s Day Poem

Mouths starved.

Necks choked.

Shoulders bruised.

Torsos kicked.

These its,

These puny its have no voices.

Continue reading

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